Amma's Ashram

Our faces were similar - they were American, I guessed, and probably about my age - but our attire was a conspicuous reminder that we were here for very different reasons. Most other 'locals' had completely blanked me up to that point. But now, squashed together in a tiny lift, conversation was unavoidable.

'Did you just arrive' one asked me.
'yup, earlier today'. I responded, 'what about you guys?' I added, attempting a sort of disarming naivety
'i think it was about six months ago...'
Then, after I mentioned my vague travel plans one confessed, quietly..'you know, I'd really like to leave...to see some of India. But I just can't. I tried once but couldn't'.
'but you can leave, can't you? Nobody would stop you, right?' I asked, now quite confused.
'No, nobody would stop me.' came the reply 'but I just can't, my legs won't work. They wouldn't walk...It's something wierd. I can't explain, I just know it's Her. She wants me to stay'

*

The all-powerful force apparently holding her back was Amma, one of a number of big-name new-age Indian gurus each followed by millions of devotees from all corners of the globe.

Amma, now in her sixties, began to attract disciples following some good deeds in her village, a tiny settlement nestled amongst the thick vegetation of the Keralan backwaters. Nobody I met seemed able to explain exactly how Amma's popularity grew so quickly, but soon people were traveling long distances to hear her preach the importance of love and goodwill.

She became known as the Hugging Saint because of her efforts to improve people's lives by embracing them. Soon it was westerners as much as Indians who were choosing her path, so an ashram - literally 'place of striving' - a kind of spiritual or religious camp housing devotees - was established, despite the remote location, on the site of her birthplace.

As donations from followers flowed in, the ashram mushroomed out of the jungle; a huge auditorium, temples, restaurants, shops, a university and two 14-story accommodation tower blocks all shot up. Now, with hundreds of thousands of followers, her organisation has become truly international. The university has several campuses in India and Amma spends most of her time traveling, leading dharshan (teaching and prayer) in countries throughout the world. But mostly the USA (the right blend of gullible and wealthy?)

Amma's organisation now attracts US$10m of private foreign donations a year.

*
The fact we were in a lift, let alone a 14-story lift, was pretty remarkable for this part of rural South India - there can't be many in the entire state of Kerala. Regular power cuts mean that the chance of getting stuck for a while are high, and on the wall a poster helpfully outlined 'Tips for the stranded' - two anecdotes about residents who were killed or maimed by dangerous behaviour following an outage. Wait to be rescued seemed to be the message, although the implication was that you might be there a while.

The ashram is open to visitors and every day a few travelers come, some out of curiosity, others from some stronger attraction that I was hoping to understand. Many, as I did, choose to stay overnight in the cheap accommodation, the imposing centrepiece of the camp. My 11th floor room had unobstructed views of the vast green coconut tree jungle below (this was also the case from the 3rd floor).

The place had the appearance of a sort of tropical Butlins. There were groups of devotees, all in plain coloured robes, some carrying books, chatting and milling around. A few of the white-skinned ones were waiting in line at the fast-food eatery. Others were queueing for the internet. Most gave the same distinctive aura, transmitted by blank, emotionless expressions and a zombie-like demeanour.

My room was basic but clean enough. The walls were littered with Amma stickers and posters: 'Live in peace and tidiness like Amma'. 'Amma says: chant your mantra' and on the ceiling, a photo of Amma's not-particularly-clean feet. Downstairs in the Lobby, a large noticeboard was plastered full of newspaper cut-outs, Amma in the Media. Closer inspection revealed that the vast majority were taken from Amma's own newsletter or website.

*

The Californian who dealt with visitor formalities was as white as his long cotton robes (despite the harshness of the Indian summer). He explained, staring blankly at my chin, that he came to the ashram 12 years ago and had been there ever since. He looked no older than thirty. Along with other new arrivals, I was guided around the site - the laundry, the swimming pool, the printing press for newsletters and posters - and then shown a video about the work of Amma and her organisation.

As well as highlighting her undeniably impressive contribution to humanitarian work, the video explained that, to date, Amma has hugged over 4 million people. At larger events the logistics of the hugging is carefully managed, with staff employed to force the two parties together and then pull them apart before the allotted few seconds is up.

After a run-down of the rules (no tobacco, alcohol or sex) and daily timetable, we were asked to say where we came from and whether we had met Amma before. This, as I was to find out later, was significant; anyone coming to the ashram having met Amma in the west was much more likely to be a serious candidate for permanency. And with wages or savings in dollars or euros, permanent western residents are the lifeblood of the orgnisation.

The day begins in Amma's world at 5.30, when residents wake and attend 2 hours of chanting (Amma's name, 1000 times. Repeat.), the men in the auditorium and the women in the temple. Before breakfast there is time alloted for more prayer followed by individual worship. In the afternoon there is free time and a slot for voluntary work and after dinner services are held at one of a number of ornate shrines where Amma's image graces the back of the altar. In one shrine it looked like a photo of her face had been blu-tacked to the head of the Hindu god Krishna. But I wasn't allowed close enough to be sure.

All visitors are encouraged to help with the running of the ashram - in Amma's words to experience the bliss of 'seva', or work. Residents can be seen doing all sorts of strange things at this time - one American woman, whose young family were residents, had even set up a small factory making Amma dolls.

'My baby wouldn't stop crying. In a dream, I realised that she wanted to be closer to Amma' she explained in one of the many promotional leaflets distributed around the site 'At first I wasn't sure whether it was disrespectful to make an Amma doll, so a friend suggested I contact Amma to ask for thoughts'. The leaflet explained how Amma, thinking of the children, had selflessley agreed to the request. 'now we make thousands of dolls each year'

Medium sized (8") Amma dolls currently retail at US$90.

*
I clearly wasn't going to be much use on the soft toy production line, but my efforts peeling vegetables in the kitchen seemed to breaking down the barriers between me and some of the permanent residents.

Enver was Albanian, but had been living in London for 8 years when he attended a talk by Amma on the recommendation of friends. As we scrubbed potatoes he recounted how he was chosen out of the thousands present and offered a personal invitation to come to the ashram. Within a year he had quit his job, sold his flat and donated the proceeds to the you know who. He immediately felt a strong connection with Amma, and it has grown to the extent that now, over 10 years later, he's the only person in the ashram who can smell her even when she's not there.

'Back then it was beautiful here, just a few of us, a small temple and Amma always had time for us. Now it's horrible, all this development and the commercial side. None of the older ones like it, but we put up with it because of her'

When I asked Enver about the slightly downbeat atmosphere I was told the devotees were deflated because of their guru's absence. I should return to see her, for only then would I understand the power of her kindness. At that moment a gust of wind blew the smell of curry from the kitchen complex below. Enver inhaled deeply: 'there - can't you smell her..that's her'.

It was becoming clear that Amma's world tours were a key tenet of the ashram recruitment programme. Christian, from Seattle, had a similar story to Enver. He had first met Amma in San Francisco, where, at a congregation of thousands she singled him out and asked him to come to India. At the time, Christian was having a difficult time at home ('my family didn't accept me'), and Amma's affection was 'my only hope'. He was planning to fly on 11 Sept 2001 via New York, but a few weeks before Amma called him to say he should come sooner. The fact she had, in doing this, saved his life was one of the many reasons why he chose to stick around. At least until he was forced to return to the states for a year ('the hardest time of my life') to earn enough money to come back. I wondered exactly how much money it must be costing him.

It would be unfair to say there was no evidence of community amongst the westerners, many of whom congregated around the swimming pool during the 45 minute opening window (one for each gender). Here I chatted with some of the younger residents - Kyle, 9, came with his parents 4 years ago. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he was happy to tell me all about how wonderful life was, and how Amma had cured his younger brother, the ashram's youngest member, of a life threatening illness shortly after he was born.

But despite the jolly atmosphere in the pool, none of the foreigners displayed any evidence of integration with the Indians - at mealtimes, by-passing the good quality Keralan food, they stuck resolutely to the overpriced burgers and pasta in the snack bar.

*
I'd decided to come to the ashram after a strange encounter with an oddly dressed woman at a beachside diner in Varkala. I started talking to her because she was reading a book I knew in Spanish. It turned out she was Venezuelan, but had been living in India for 22 years. When I told her I was from the UK she mentioned that she'd also lived in London for many years. 'When was that?' I asked, confused because she didn't look old enough and had already said she couldn't speak English. 'Oh many years ago. At the time of Anne Boleyn. In a different life. I loved London'

I made a poor attempt at hiding my scepticism while she gave me a run-down of her favourite Indian mystics, sages and spiritual leaders. Clearly something of a guru junkie, she had spent the last 20 years moving from one ashram to the next. As well as Amma, her list included two characters, hugely controversial, who are allegedly guilty of far more than a well-proportioned ego and accutely-honed commercial awareness.

Strong supporting evidence for L.Ron Hubbard's assertions about the financial rewards of founding religious groups, Osho and Sai Baba are both shrouded in rumour and heresay. Osho, known as the sex-guru, died in 1990, but still has hundreds of thousands of followers. His ashram in Pune, near Mumbai, recieves over 30,000 western visitors a year. Here, next to some of India's worst slums, the almost entirely foreign clientele get up to all sorts of wierd shit in a complex that boasts theatres, nightclubs, alternative therapy centres and sports facilities. Apparently, zen tennis, 'zennis', is particularly popular.

At the cost of a few thousand pounds (no proceeds to charity) and an HIV test, interested parties can join the ashram for an 'introductory month', before applying for permanent membership. Osho, who once owned a fleet of 85 Rolls Royces (to demonstrate that wealth is unimportant, he claimed), has been accused of fraud, embezzlement, blackmail and even bioterrorism, although, as is often the case with wealthy indians, none of the charges stuck.

Sai Baba's organisation is similarly lacking in a discernable humanitarian purpose. The original Sai Baba was, it is generally understood, a good man who helped the poor (a la mother theresa) and was respected by both Muslims and Hindus (a rare accomplishment for a spiritual leader). He never set up an ashram, lived something of a humble existence and died in 1919. 21 after this, a cunning 14 year old boy, calling himself Sai Baba (was that what did it?), proclaimed to be the re-incarnation of Sai Baba.

Sixty years, some good conjuring tricks, numerous world tours, several police investigations and a couple of allegations of sexual abuse against boys later, he has achieved, depending on who measures, between 6 and 100 million followers, with 1200 'centres' in 114 countries. On top of all this, despite being in his 80s, he has maintained a huge afro; matched in size only, perhaps, by his astronomic bank balance.

There is currently something of a debate about where the next incarnation of Sai Baba will spring from. With millions up for grabs, it's surely worth a punt for some opportunist parents. Especially if their offspring turns out to have the right combination of charisma, self obsession, financial nous and aptitude for magic tricks.

*
The following day, thirsty for some sort of normality after less than 24 hours in Amma's ashram, I took a walk to explore the surroundings. We had been told not to do this because people in the nearby villages were supposedly hostile to westerners. And we were asked not to spend money outside because (in an state where the average wage is a few dollars a day) it would 'de-stabilise' the local economy.

I sat down for tea in a shack with a man who spoke broken English. He said he didn't know much about Amma, but that his family was invited to the ashram when his father was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. A group of European-looking women in full robes walked by. Then two more ashram residents, both men - I guessed in their forties and both exponents of the mildly-narked-zombie look, sat down opposite. Encouraged by my successes of the previous day, I managed to spark some conversation. The story was a familiar one - they had been there a couple of years or maybe more, Amma was wonderful, incredible, fantastic.

Then, perhaps because I represented an opportunity to talk about the outside world, one began describing his life back home: an unpleasant divorce and time spent in prison for drugs-related offences. The other was quick to interject at this point with further praise for Amma.

As our host prepared more tea and the Germans puffed away on their cigarettes, it struck me that some sense of community, a clear routine and one constantly re-enforced reason for existing was perhaps just what these people needed in their lives.

Living Gurus have been revered in India for thousands of years, often at the same time as traditional religious gods. And it could be said that it makes as much, if not more, sense to worship a living person than a long dead one whose existence is based on consensus or legend. But even so, something about the two middle aged Bavarians in long white robes puffing on cigarettes in the Keralan jungle whilst asserting the supernatural powers of an overweight Indian spinster with badly kept feet seemed wrong, even a little sad.

After my brief experience in this strange place I was confused lots of things but certain of one: like many westerners coming to India, for the German pair, living in the ashram was as much about what they could leave behind as what they had found here.

Yet I suspected that for some of the people calling the shots at the ashram, what residents had left behind didn't matter a great deal. Provided they remembered to bring their chequebook.